Just an idea for now but please read :)
by NotAThatGoodAWriter
Summary: This is just sort of the basis of an idea; let me know what you think of it please, it's not long and i'd really appreciate the feedback, thanks guys :) PLEASE can someone leave me a review :') this has been up for a while now and idk what im doing about it :') thanks again for reading it x


"So, what are we taking?" a man in a clear plastic smock toyed with a scalpel as he leaned against the wall, poking it through the rubber of his gloves. A taller man in a similar smock stood washing his hands in a basin and glanced to a clip-board that hung from a nail on the gleaming white wall beside him. "Kidneys, liver, that's it. She's B+ so I think we'll have some of that as well…" he pointed with a dripping hand to a tube that fed into the patients arm and dried his hands. "Can we take her lungs too? I quite fancy getting my hands on that chest" the man leaning against the wall smirked and laughed. They approached her, pulling their masks over their faces but still grinning through the plastic at the lecherous remark. "Deena in the labs said something about some experiments their doing, asked if they could have the eyes if we don't need them" the taller man lifted the plastic sheet that covered the girl, her bare skin marked out for where organs were to be pulled. "Shall we do that first?" he casually gestured towards the sleeping eyes with a swing of his scalpel, the other man muttered something under his breath about her not being so pretty when they'd finished with her and moved to the end of the table behind her head. The words of the surgeons drifted through the air and through her mind, Caro began to grow to her surroundings; the gruff creeping voices, the itch of the plastic sheet and the brutal chill of the cold metal table on which she lay. And the harsh clinical light to which her eyes now tried to adjust. "Right then, lets…" the tall surgeons mouth dropped under his mask and his scalpel slipped in his hand as the blazing violet blue eyes stared up at him in horror, the other man's head turned and gasped as he saw the spectacle of the dead body that was apparently not dead.

They all rested a moment, just a moment, barely that, in the brittle silence before the man who earlier was joking about taking her lungs sprang across the room to a chrome box on the wall; he forced a button and hollered "Get someone down here now! I don't give a fuck who just send someone down for fucks sake!" the other man just shuffled backwards, letting his instrument fall fully out of his hands now and clatter onto the floor. Caro lay motionless, her eyes darted violently about the room but nothing; no door, no window, no indication what so ever of where she was. All that was evident was that these two bastards were about to try and cut her open, why? But she didn't have time to question that right now, she just wanted to get out of there as fast as she could. She saw the scalpel on the floor and planned her swift manoeuvre: swing off the bed. Grab the scalpel. Shove it in his throat. Leave it there. Grab whatever else is to hand. Get rid of the other guy. Done. Planned in seconds and practically fool-proof, so why couldn't she do it? She moved her arms, or at least it felt like she was moving them, but nothing. She willed her limbs to move, begged them to lift her off the table but still they sat bewildered on the cold metal. She could feel it was cold. She could feel it, which was something at least. But still she couldn't move. Tears rose in her eyes and cries and anxious vomit choked her from the back of her throat; she tried to breathe, but nothing. Panic beat back everything she felt and took over her body in a wash of terror as her head went light and finally, everything went to black.

Her eyes peeled open in a weary haze to see her new surroundings: the clean white walls, white floor and bed-sheets. Good, no plastic. And she was clothed, she could feel the soft cotton gown that lightly caressed her skin, the soft rise and fall of her chest under the closely tucked covers looked surreal in her daze, she felt no sensation of breathing; no air pass her lips and stared at her body rising and falling, barely noticing the thick plastic tubing that fed through her throat as she drifted back to sleep.

A door closed softly somewhere and her eyes opened a crack to see the clean white walls again, unbroken by any sign of a door anywhere. She looked around a little, her head still light and thick with a fog of medication and that lethargy that comes post-panic and caught sight of the plastic tube. Thick, clear and leading down the bed and into a respirator she saw it, the other end feeding into a plastic set up in her throat. Her fingers twitched and languidly she raised her arm to trace her fingertips around the apparatus in her neck, her panic rising slowly with each new component she discovered. Panic. Panic coursing through her veins again, but the respirator was moving to slow, her vision became hazier and her head lighter; a wailing sound filled the room, an alarm of some sort, she tried to breathe naturally but choked on the plastic blocking her throat, every cough and splutter sending it crashing further into her already swollen flesh and sending new shocks of pain through her neck. A machine ticked over behind the screams of the alarm and dispensed a dose of medication into her IV drip, flowing down and soothing her veins, eliminating the panic that ravaged them and sending her back to a troubled sleep.

When she was younger, a boy in Caro's class at school had gone looking for his father at work at one of the mines. He wandered away from where anyone was likely to see him and fell down one of the mine shafts. She wandered back there from school that day and knelt by the hollow of the entrance, talking to the dark emptiness and tossing bits of bread down to the boy who was not there to eat them. She sat there now, six years old and talking to the boy who fell down the mine, telling him about that day at school, telling him about the reaping, about the games, about the surgeons who tried to cut her open, about the clean room she couldn't get out of and about the tube feeding into her neck. And she tossed him bread. The dream seemed lighter than her memory, brighter, as if the sun was reflecting of the crystal white walls of her room and into her dreams, she could swear she saw a little further down the mine this time. As she talked she could feel the cool breeze that drifted up from the mine carrying with it the flecks of coal dust that clung to her clothes and the smell of coal and dirt, but slowly the coal and dirt scent faded away, blended with something else, something sweet. The scents mingled and eventually the sweetness overpowered the dank mine odours; it wafted through the air gently to start with, then like a light rain can turn into a downpour in seconds it whirled, engulfed the air around her, the inescapable, sickly, sweet stink. Flowers, roses even. But there was something in them. Something that she couldn't place, it's bitterness danced in her nose and in her eyes and burning tears brimmed ready to break free. Blood. Roses and blood.

Her throat swelled, gathering itself around the plastic and forcing it deeper. She winced at the pain and snapped her eyes open, she wasn't breathing, the machine was doing that for her now, but still the sickly scent crept into her nose. Her eyes darted about looking for the source, they found it soon enough. A man in his mid-forties sat in a crisp navy blue suit, a stiff collared white shirt visible behind the poised arms that lay over his chest, his hands neatly gathered in his lap and his legs crossed as he sat on the chrome chair that wasn't there before. He was almost as clean as the room with his shoes gleaming and the silver of his buttons glinting in the light; his skin looked soft, Caro wondered what he had had done to it, especially his lips that looked almost puffy and a little too tight. His hair was white, and his snake like eyes were fixed on her. President Snow. Caro took a moment to gather herself, physically and mentally. She tried to sit up –she could feel her arms now but they were still weak- half waiting for Snow to raise a sympathetic hand to tell her not to worry herself, but he didn't. He sat and watched as she struggled to sit herself upright, he waited, he thought to himself that if she was a polite and sensible little girl she would conduct herself appropriately in his presence. He remained silent and continued to stare at her with his persecuting gaze. Eventually Caro had herself propped up in the bed, out of breath she looked up expectantly at the president who calmly –and slowly- raised himself from his chair and began to pace the length of the room in silence. Caro waited for the respirator to catch her up as she sat weakly, her head already beginning to feel light again, but Snow was waiting for his moment; he was waiting until she was almost done, almost of the brink of collapse, then and only then would he begin the conversation thus forcing her on for a few more agonising minutes. One corner of his strange lips curved into a dark smirk away from her sight, exacting his power of people never failed to entertain.

As he paced Caro began to fall forwards on her arms, her body was not ready for such simple exertion and she was ready to drop again, Snow's moment had arrived. "A lot of nerves in the neck. A lot of blood vessels too. Very important ones" his voice was smooth but strong, he twisted his hands around the bars of the bed. Caro's mind flickered back to the arena: Running. Running through trees, then breaking out into the vulnerable openness of the field. The thud of feet behind her and the whistling air that closed in on her signalling the imminence of her attack. The axe. The pain that racked her body as it buried itself at the base of her neck. She went down like a ton of bricks and lay there convulsing, spluttering, choking on her own blood as he dashed passed her and onwards through the field. Her head feeling light and her neck burning. The cannon-fire. Blackout. The clinical white walls of the room seemed harsher somehow and her neck twitched with the memory. Snow glared down at her from the end of the bed, his disgusting little eyes felt as if they had relived the memory with her they were staring so deep into hers. She tried to steady herself in the bed. "Do you know what that does to a person, all that damage to all those nerves?" he cocked his head and raised his brow in question. He knew she could barely breathe without assistance never mind talk, but it was still fun to watch her try. She coughed and gagged on the contraption as she tried for some time to develop an answer, it was on the tip of her tongue but had no breath to force it out, it was as if she'd forgotten how to talk from her mouth; with all the concentration needed not to breathe through her mouth maybe she had. Snows hands meanwhile tightened around the metal bars "Paralysis" he hissed through gritted teeth. His patience was wearing thin with this girl. He waited before, but that was different, he was making her wait, and he was the president, it didn't work the other way around. "Paralysis" he repeated quietly, stepping away from the bed and gathering his hands neatly again in front of him. He moved with silent steps around the bed "You couldn't move at all when you first arrived." with the surgeons. That was why she couldn't move. "We managed to restore some nerve damage before your little debut" someone had obviously reported her unscheduled wake-up in the theatre, his mouth formed a sickly half-smile that made his odd lips look even more so. Caro's mind railed, but she should've died, shouldn't she? All that damage should have been enough to kill her surely? Apparently they thought so, why else would they have tried to take her organs "The damage was quite bad I must admit, so much so we thought you weren't going to make it. We were intending to operate, salvage what we could for…spare parts" his last words were said with such a particular venom that Caro felt her stomach drop and guts churn. _What do you want from me _she thought, her arms felt weaker and she was conscious they were beginning to tremble, Snow was conscious of it too and took a lengthy pause. Her eyes widened, in a mixture of things; pain, fear, question. All of which were picked up by his serpentine eyes. He moved to collect his chair from across the room and repositioned it beside her bed; sitting down he began "It's a terrible pity you didn't win" he leaned forward a little, the disgustingly bittersweet stench of roses and the tangy metallic scent of blood overwhelmed her and she tried not to cough in his face as it caught in her throat "You really are very pretty, many people would've paid a great deal for you had you been the victor" and for the first time in their conversation his eyes had broken away from hers as he let them wander over her body, slim and toned and though hidden by the sheets the soft curvature of her form could be seen quite plainly. "They still would" he muttered in addition, his gaze still caressing her skin. What muscles she could control tensed under his stare, a wash of fear and shame and disgust swept over her as his eyes slowly made their way back to her face. "What? You didn't think we were going to fix you up catch-free did you?" a playful look crept across his face but his eyes asked her if she was stupid enough to believe they had saved her out of sympathy. Of course not. Snow leaned in further, the stench from him was making Caro light headed to the point of collapse, but she kept herself upright as his hand slid up towards her shoulder. With a soft, careful motion he eased down the gown to reveal the neat white scar, no thicker than a hair, which ran from behind her neck down to her collarbone. He sighed as his uncomfortably cool fingers lightly caressed the skin of her shoulder, Caro could hear her blood pounding through her ears, her body still tense as he again let his eyes wander over her. He made her sick, she wanted to be and could feel the bile slowly rising in her throat. The wicked stench, the perverted looks, it was all she could do not to scream or puke or cry, or all of the above. When his eyes finally met hers again his hand had not moved from her shoulder. "The doctors tell me they've repaired a majority of the nerve damage above your waist" he said matter-of-factly, but his next words made her skin crawl "But that's not the part we're interested in" that dark smirk crept back across his face and her body felt cold and numb, that was it, she couldn't hold herself any longer. Her arms went limp and she fell backwards onto the bed with a thump, she could swear she felt Snows hand pushing her down. She looked forward, looked at the blank white wall with no window or sign of a door. He continued to stare down at her, his face contorting into disappointment and disapproval. "We'll have you fixed up in no time at all, dear" he leaned over the bed and flicked a switch on a nearby machine, it engaged with a hiss and dispensed another dose of medication into her IV; her eyes felt heavy and she let herself sink into the soft warmth of the sheets, but through the haze she saw him leaning over her, his eyes still cutting into her. Looming over her he let his hand brush against her face, his cool touch making her tense again in the bed, he cocked his head again and took a curl between his fingers, maliciously twirling it in his hand "Still so pretty" he murmered.


End file.
